


Choosing the Begining

by MrsHamill



Series: Grandmother Raven: The Path of a Shaman [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, M/M, None - Freeform, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-06
Updated: 2001-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:36:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Blair takes a spirit walk and Jim waits up for his roomie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choosing the Begining

**Author's Note:**

> This is number two in the Grandmother Raven; the Path of a Shaman series. It picks up at the end of _The Girl Next Door_. Fox and Christi have been indispensable in these things; thanks, you two.

_He who chooses the beginning of a road chooses the place it leads to. It is the means that determines the end._

_Harry Emerson Fosdick_

* * *

"Why don't you do yourself a favor, Romeo," Jim said as Blair sat back down and picked up his guitar. "Get some therapy."  
  
Simon laughed as he helped himself to the dessert Blair had just brought to the table. Shooting Jim a 'yeah, whatever' glance, Blair began strumming again, wondering if he _should_ try to keep in touch with Iris. Poor kid. She'd probably never stood a chance.  
  
"It's not bad," Jim said, and Blair rolled his eyes at Jim's incredulous tone.  
  
His mouth full, Joel said, "It's the best of all," and Blair beamed. He could always count on Joel.  
  
"What is it?" Simon asked, also taking a big spoonful, and Blair realized he had a way to get his own back a bit.  
  
"Well, actually," he said, improvising quickly, "I take some dates, I put them in water till they get really nice and moist, then add lemon juice and sugar, then I stick this underneath the sink for a few weeks and let it get real moldy. You know when fur starts growing on it? Stick it into a blender, put maple syrup on it. There you go." He looked down at the guitar in his lap as he played a riff, aware that he'd start snickering at their faces if he looked up. Simon, Joel, and Jim all looked at each other, then reached for their drinks.  
  
"Of course--" he _had_ to add, he couldn't _not_ add-- "it's the cockroach crap that really adds the, uh, extra flavor."  
  
"Sandburg, you are such a shit," Jim said, throwing his napkin at the younger man. But he still didn't pick up his spoon. Realizing they'd been had, Simon and Joel groaned piteously. Joel looked at his spoon, but didn't pick it up either.  
  
"Okay, that does it for me," Simon growled, rising. "I'd better leave before he digs something else out."  
  
"Oh, man, what time is it?" Blair said suddenly, grabbing Simon's arm and looking at his watch. "Shit. I have to go. Jim, man, I did part of the dishes, can you finish up?"  
  
"Sure, Chief. What, you got a hot date? After _Iris_?" Simon and Joel smirked at each other, but Blair only grinned.  
  
"Yup, with a grandmother. Gotta love those older women, right, Jim?"  
  
Jim rolled his eyes. "Well, at least I know _she's_ not a wanted felon. But you stay away from the peyote!" Jim's voice was stern, and the two other men looked between them, puzzled.  
  
"Cut me some slack, man!" Blair laughed as he got his jacket. The evening had turned chilly. "The hardest stuff Grandmother Raven might have is cider. Later, guys," he threw over his shoulder as he hurried through the door. He was late, and Grandmother Raven was likely to tear him a new one if he didn't hurry.  
  
Laughter from apartment 307 chased him down the steps.  
  


* * *

  
"You are late." Violet greeted Blair at the door to the small house. Morrie, on her shoulder again, chittered as if in agreement.  
  
"I know, I know," Blair mumbled, kissing Violet on the cheek, removing his coat and gently bopping Morrie all in one smooth movement. "Is she pissed?"  
  
" _She_ is not pissed -- yet," Grandmother Raven said from the hallway. She strode into the living room, her cane still supporting her -- but only marginally. "But of course, that depends on the quality of your excuse."  
  
Blair winced. "Uh, does being in jail count for anything?"  
  
Both women gasped. "Blair! You weren't in jail, were you?" Violet asked, horrified.  
  
"Well, yeah, I mean, no, not behind bars, actually, but I was in custody, sort of, even if Simon let me stay in his office, but it was because of all the smack in the trunk of my car, y'see, and they had to... well... oh, shit." The two women facing him had nearly identical looks of consternation and incredulity. Blair ran his hand through his hair and grinned apologetically. "It's... well, it's a long story."  
  
Violet rolled her eyes and shared a glance with Grandmother Raven. "So when have we not heard that one?" she asked, shaking her head. "With Blair Sandburg, it's always a long story."  
  
Grandmother Raven just shook her head sadly. "Come back with me, young pup, and you can tell me _this_ long story."  
  
Blair followed the older woman down the short hallway to the back of the house, where one bedroom had been turned into a office/den of sorts. Altogether, the house had three bedrooms and a finished basement; much of Grandmother Raven's art work was done in the basement, but her teaching was done in her office -- when not done outside. The room she led him to was cozy; it was decorated with the Salish, Makah and Haida artifacts she had collected over the years, books, a small desk (on which a computer hummed), a comfortable recliner and a loveseat.  
  
The old woman made herself comfortable on the recliner, while motioning her guest to the loveseat. Before he even seated himself, Blair began talking, telling her about meeting Iris, and explaining how he'd managed to get himself booked, fingerprinted and 'locked up' in Simon's office. He carefully avoided the part about being kidnapped and chased and shot at... not that he should have bothered.  
  
"You're not telling me the whole story, boy," Grandmother Raven growled as he wound down. Blair blushed. "And the part that you're not telling me bothers you. Why?"  
  
So, hesitantly, Blair told her about being kidnapped by Iris and her ex-boyfriend; about the dealer who was after the two of them, and, by extension, Blair; and the curious feeling being shot at had given him. "You know," Blair said, bouncing to his feet to pace, "I've been shot at before -- hell, I've actually been _shot_ before. It wasn't fun. But this time, Grandmother, it was weird."  
  
"How so?" she asked, watching him pace frenetically.  
  
"I -- well, I got angry. Furious, actually. When Parkman... Grandmother, I would have cheerfully killed him with my bare hands if I'd had the chance." Blair blew out a big breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "I kept thinking, the whole time I was on the run, 'you're supposed to be a shaman!' I'm supposed to be a shaman? Give me a break! I totally screwed up, Grandmother. From Iris on down." Slumping, he kept pacing. "I guess maybe I'm not cut out for it after all."  
  
"Because you got angry?" Grandmother Raven seemed puzzled and a little confused. "Or because you took a young woman at face value and wanted to believe her?"  
  
"Well, yeah. I mean -- yeah -- both, I guess. A shaman -- isn't a shaman supposed to be above all that? Supposed to be able to sense when someone is -- well, at least when someone is a total asshole!" He was getting freaked out, he knew he was getting freaked out, but damn...!  
  
"Blair," Grandmother Raven said sharply. "Sit down."  
  
Blair turned to her, took a measure of calm from her stern face, took a deep breath and sat back down on the loveseat. Needing to pull himself together, to stop being so very torn up about the whole thing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing for a moment, grateful that Grandmother remained quiet while he did so. When he opened his eyes finally, he saw hers trained keenly on him. "Better?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah, a little," he replied, somewhat shamefaced. "Sorry about that."  
  
"Sorry about what?" Grandmother was actually beginning to sound exasperated, a tone he had only heard once or twice in their friendship. "Sorry that you did the good thing -- the decent thing -- and tried to help what you thought was a young girl in distress? Sorry that you stopped some terrible drugs from being put into circulation and hurting hundreds of children? Sorry that that ugly green lump out there got a decent tune-up? Be specific, Blair," she finished, her mouth twitching. "Because as far as I can see, you have nothing to be sorry about."  
  
"I -- uh..." Blair blinked, frowned, and started to speak again, only to fall silent again. "I didn't... I mean... Hmm." He hadn't quite thought of it in those terms. Instead, he had been comparing himself -- unfairly, too -- to Jim. How would Jim have handled it? But Blair -- Blair wasn't Jim.  
  
"Now," Grandmother Raven said, "tell me; how did you get this idea that a shaman is something more than human stuck in your head?" She leaned forward, cocking her head to one side. "Because a shaman is nothing more than a human being, Blair. Maybe with a little extra help, but that's really all."  
  
Shaking his head, still bemused, Blair chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just..."  
  
"Let's leave the Superman stuff to your partner, shall we?" Grandmother said. "We can concentrate on the invisible while he deals with the visible. How does that sound?"  
  
"Like what I'm supposed to be doing," Blair replied, abashed. "I guess I must have felt a little out of my depth. I mean, I _knew_ Jim would come for me, would find me, well, at least my subconscious did. But my rational brain kept coming up with all these weird things, mostly telling me that Jim couldn't come, wouldn't be coming, wouldn't -- wouldn't want to come."  
  
Blair looked down at his toes, feeling unaccountably sad. "Jim always comes for me, is always having to rescue me from some damn thing or other. He was the one that found out about Iris, ran her profile, found her rap sheet -- 'cause he was worried about me, he said. I know it's just him looking out for me, this protector instinct the guy has. But..."  
  
"You feel as if you're relying on him too much," Grandmother said gently, "yes?" Like you're being too much of a burden, an imposition. And because of that..."  
  
She trailed off, obviously waiting for him to finish the thought. "And because of that," he finally forced out, "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to, to tell me to leave. It was only supposed to be for a week. It's been two years. I mean, I don't even pay rent, Grandmother. Why would he put up with me? Why does he put up with me?"  
  
She shook her head, then with some asperity, replied, "Blair, I'm not a psychiatrist. There's only one person that can answer that question -- and it's Jim. Why don't you ask him some time? Or would that be too much of a radical step?"  
  
"Grandmother..." he replied, sounding even to his own ears like a whiny teenager. "No, it wouldn't be. I guess..." Blair trailed off, thoughtful. When he continued, it was in a murmur. "Maybe I'm just afraid to find out the truth."  
  
Grandmother Raven threw up her hands in disgust. "Lord save me from clueless men," she muttered, and Blair shot her a puzzled look. "Never mind. What did you come for tonight, boy? Did you just want to whine or have you actually made up your mind?"  
  
Her harsh words were belied by the gentle smile on her face, and Blair smiled back. "Made up my mind? Hardly. Sometimes, I think, yeah, cool, I'm down with that, let's hit it. Then there are times when I wake up shivering from a dream where I should have been able to help Jim and couldn't, and all the training, all the wanting to be a shaman was for nothing." Blair sprawled out, leaning his head back against the back of the sofa. He felt completely lost, bereft, anchorless -- a feeling that was totally alien to him. He had been on his own for over ten years, for God's sake; in all that time, his only anchor had been himself. Now, he found himself moored to someone else, and that made him nervous. "Grandmother, please tell me what to do," he said quietly.  
  
She snorted. "Ha. As if, young pup. This decision is yours and yours alone. All I can do is guide you, teach you, if it is what you want." Blair slumped further. "But let's try a little shared meditation tonight, a little spirit walk, and maybe that will give you something to think about, or at least a better idea of your path." Wryly, she added, "At the least it'll calm you down."  
  
Blair raised his head up and smiled at her. "That sounds good. What do you want me to do?"  
  
"Well, you can light that incense over there, and those candles, turn out the lights and come sit between my legs," she replied. "My hips aren't quite up to pretzeling themselves on the floor yet."  
  
After a few minutes, the room was dimmed and filled with a fragrant aroma, and Blair sat in lotus on the floor, between Grandmother Raven's legs, his back comfortable against the footrest of the recliner. He cupped his hands upward on his thighs and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose, holding it, then gently releasing it through his mouth. Gradually, a little slower than he'd like, he felt himself begin to drift down into a trance. Before he sank too deep, he asked "Where am I?" Waiting for a reply to his ritual question, he felt his heart slow and his brain wind down.  
  
"You are with your spirit guide," he heard, distantly, and frowned.  
  
"I don't know what my spirit guide is," he murmured.  
  
"Then you must find it," came the reply, wind through the trees.  
  
Blair opened his eyes on a featureless, dark gray plain. A dim, sourceless light shone down on him, but there was nothing he could see. Deliberately keeping up his breathing rhythm, he drifted in a lazy circle, letting his eyes roam where they would. If his spirit guide was here, it would manifest itself, and no amount of begging, pleading or shoving on his part would move it along.  
  
He heard a distant, heavy drumming, in a slow rhythm, and eventually realized it was his own heart. He allowed himself to sway gently in time to the beat, letting his consciousness drift pleasantly as his seeming body did.  
  
After a timeless interval, he saw a speck of darkness moving towards him. Stopping his movements, he waited until the speck resolved into a large black bird, a raven. Perching on a tree limb that hadn't been there a moment before, the bird looked at him keenly. Blair realized that the featureless gray had become a thick blanket of fog.  
  
"You are _not_ my spirit animal," Blair said, grinning. He didn't know exactly how he knew this, but it was so.  
  
The bird cocked its head, clacked its beak and then in Grandmother Raven's laughing voice, yelled "Nevermore!" and took wing again.  
  
"Okay, so I know Grandmother is here and looking after me," Blair said to himself, dropping down into a comfortable position. "So all I have to do is wait. I can do that."  
  
Settling into lotus -- how funny is that, he thought, meditating while meditating! -- he blanked his mind. Or at least tried to... Gradually, voices began to intrude. They wafted to him on the wings of a light breeze, encroaching on his peace.  
  
He heard Iris first, fleetingly, her laid-back, 'who-gives-a-fuck' tone coming through loud and clear. Then he heard Maya, sadly, and Amber, resignedly. Their words were not clear, but everything else was. Christine. Samantha -- oh God. He closed his eyes.  
  
Blair's eyes snapped open when a voice seemed to whisper "I can be you," directly into one ear. His heart began tripping double-time as he frantically jerked around. No one was there, of course, he was on the spirit plain, and anyway, the beast was dead. Dead and gone. Still... "...A touch of the nerd..."  
  
More voices. Dawson Quinn: "All's you need's a cape, Ellison!" Brackett, Zeller, Kincaid. Blair pressed his hands to his ears and closed his eyes, moaning, they're not real, none of them are real. "...Sweetie..."  
  
Take a deep breath... in through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth. Repeat. Grandmother Raven is here with you; you are safe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. None of this is real, it's a test, some kind of weird trial. In -- nose, out -- mouth. It's nothing more than your subconscious trying to drive you bananas, your ape brain hooting and jumping. In. Out. "I refuse these. I acknowledge their presence, and refuse them a hold over me," Blair said, his voice sounding weak and unsteady to his own ears. "Memories cannot hurt me. I refuse them a hold over me. I can rise above them. I have risen above them."  
  
Slowly, as he repeated the litany, the gibbering voices faded. The breeze tugged at him, but Blair didn't open his eyes until he once again heard the steady, slow pounding of his heart echoing emptily. In... Out.  
  
Blair opened his eyes. For a moment he was disoriented; then he realized he was still seeing the gray dream-landscape drenched in fog. Movement caught out of the corner of his eye drew him around. There was a vague, half-defined shape moving through the eddies of the fog, but the harder Blair tried to pinpoint it, the less real it became. A dog? Big for a dog, he thought. Maybe it was the jaguar?  
  
The flapping of wings told him Grandmother Raven had returned, and he turned to see the raven perched on the branch again. "It's time to come home, pup," she said gently, her black eyes glittering.  
  
"But I haven't found it yet," Blair said, his mild objection reasonable to him, at least.  
  
"Wrong order, wrong order!" the raven cried, sounding like something out of Lewis Carroll as the fog swirled and dissipated. "It hasn't found you yet."  
  
Blair opened his eyes.  
  


* * *

  
"You handled that very well," Grandmother Raven said, sipping her tea. She and Blair sat in the comfortable kitchen, drinking chamomile tea and talking about Blair's experience on the spirit plane.  
  
"I didn't feel like it," Blair replied truthfully. "It felt like I was going to go nuts for a while there."  
  
She made a soft, rude noise. "Not a chance of that, young pup. I wouldn't have allowed it. What do you remember most clearly about the experience? Answer me quickly, without much thought," she tacked on, examining him.  
  
Blair frowned. "Opening my eyes," he said, surprised to hear himself say that. Blinking, he thought about it for a moment, a moment that Grandmother Raven gave him, then added, "It opened my eyes. To my... to my fears?"  
  
"Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps to other things as well."  
  
"'Do not go to the elves for advice, for they--'" Blair began quoting, and she chimed in, laughing, for the end.  
  
"'--will say both yea and nay!' Don't put me into that category, boy. I'm not so old that I can't wallop you."  
  
"Yes, Grandmother Raven," Blair replied cheekily, and grinned at her mock-scowl. "So my eyes have been opened. A little, anyway. Now what?"  
  
She spread her hands. "Now what is up to you. You came to me this evening in a morass of doubt. How do you feel now?"  
  
"Calmer," he said promptly. "Less frantic. More like I have a hold over events, rather than them having a hold on me."  
  
"Good. Then ask yourself," she said earnestly, "what do I want to do now?"  
  
A wealth of good feeling bubbled up in Blair, making him feel giddy. Relief, part of him noted, the after-rush of adrenaline from his ordeal. Unable to reply to her question seriously, he said, "Okay. So, self, what do I want to do now?"  
  
Instead of the glare he expected, she merely shook her head and closed her eyes. "Go home, Blair. Leave this old woman in peace. But come back tomorrow, when you're sober, sane and awake, and we'll talk."  
  
"Okay but... oh, wait. I can't, Grandmother. Jim's taking me along on a fishing trip with his boss," Blair said, suddenly remembering. "We're leaving tomorrow afternoon, and spending the whole weekend up in the mountains. I'm really looking forward to it."  
  
"A fishing trip, eh?" she said, rising and taking their empty cups. "That sounds relaxing. Why would he be taking his boss?"  
  
"Simon is his friend, a good friend too," Blair explained, following Grandmother Raven to the kitchen. "He's a good guy. Besides you, he's the only one that knows about the Sentinel stuff. He helps us, keeps the secret."  
  
"He sounds like a good man," she said, rinsing the cups in the sink. "Then bring me some fish or some fresh herbs, if you can find anything this late in the season, and see me when you get back."  
  
"I will." Blair kissed her cheek and smiled. "I'd better be getting back to the loft though, so Jim can go to sleep. Guy is always waiting up for me, like I was his son, or something."  
  
"Drive carefully, Blair," she said, looking after him fondly.  
  
"I will. Good night, Grandmother," he replied, letting himself out. He heard Grandmother Raven sigh as he closed the door behind himself.  
  


* * *

  
Jim clicked off the TV and glanced at the time -- nearly eleven. The loft was dim without the tube on, and he debated going upstairs and getting ready for bed -- who knew how long Blair would be out anyway?  
  
Before he could move, the phone rang. He jumped slightly, then rolled his eyes; it was probably just a wrong number. He grabbed the cordless and thumbed it on. "Ellison."  
  
"He's on his way home, Enqueri," a familiar voice laughed in his ear. "So you can go to bed if you wish."  
  
"Oh." Unaccountably, Jim found himself blushing. "Thanks, um, yeah. He tell you I wait up sometimes for him?"  
  
"Yes," Grandmother Raven said, "but I would have guessed it anyway. Enqueri, you and I should talk, and soon."  
  
Talk? "Uh, talk? About what? Is Sandburg okay?"  
  
"Blair is fine, a bit confused still, but doing well," she said. "But what he is doing, or choosing not to do, also involves you. I can feel your tension about this, and want you to know; you can come to me to talk any time. About Blair's choices, his paths, about how this relates to you, about what you can expect, even about nothing at all."  
  
Oddly touched, Jim was nearly at a loss for words. "Oh," he said, then shook himself. You can do better than that... "Thanks. I -- thanks. I appreciate that. I really do."  
  
"You're welcome," she replied, and Jim could hear the smile in her words. "It's late for an old woman, so I'm going to bed. Sleep well, Enqueri."  
  
"Thank you, uh, you too," he replied, then killed the connection. He could not bring himself to call her Grandmother. He barely remembered his father's mother, who had died when he was very young, and he'd never really known any older people until he himself was older. He _wanted_ to call her that, for some reason, but it was difficult.  
  
By the time Jim had used the bathroom and readied himself for bed, he heard Blair's Volvo thrumming down the street. Whatever else happened with that bitch Iris, at least the Volvo was running better.  
  
He opened the door before Blair could get to it, and greeted his roommate with a smile. "Hey, man," Blair said, hanging up his coat and toeing off his shoes. "I thought I'd find you sacked out on the couch."  
  
"Naw," Jim said, moving into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. "You want one?" he asked, then tossed one to Blair when he nodded. "Just getting ready to crash. You have a good time?"  
  
"Define 'good time,' Jim," Blair said, his face wry. "I had an interesting time. No peyote, though," he added, grinning.  
  
Jim bopped him on the side of the head. "Good for that. How's it feel to be on a date and not get laid?"  
  
Giving Jim a withering glance, Blair said, "Bite me, Ellison. And by the way, you've never apologized for that table leg comment. So don't expect any help with your paperwork until you do."  
  
"Uh-huh," Jim said, clearly disbelieving. "When hell freezes over, Junior." They looked at each other for a moment, then snickered. When he calmed, Jim continued. "Did you, uh, make any decisions?"  
  
Blair took a long swig of water and looked at the bottle thoughtfully. "Well, not exactly. I'm still thinking about it. But I promise you'll be the second to know when I do decide."  
  
"Well, I guess that's fair enough," Jim said slowly. "If... if there's anything, you know, that I can, well, do, or help you with, you know," he slowly managed to get out, then grimaced at Blair when he noticed the younger man was smiling at him.  
  
"Why, Jim, I didn't know you _cared_ ," Blair said, then laughed when Jim shot him the finger. "Thanks, Jim," he added, more seriously. "I appreciate it."  
  
"Just don't let it go to your head, Junior," Jim growled, ruining the effect by smiling. "I'm for bed. Goodnight, Chief."  
  
"Good night, Jim," Blair said softly, watching his Sentinel climb the stairs to bed.

end


End file.
